


Reforged Memories

by KendraPendragon



Series: My tumblr writing [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Not Really A Happy Ending, come one give it a shot, open end, still a good read I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-15 18:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16069178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: Moriarty had kidnapped Molly. Sherlock and John save her. Everything should be fine again. But it's not. For Molly Hooper isn't Molly Hooper anymore. She is Molly Moriarty.She doesn't know who Sherlock Holmes is; only knows that he has killed her husband.Sherlock will never give up until he brought his Molly back. He will do anything.





	Reforged Memories

“As soon as you get a clear aim, shoot”, Sherlock hissed at John, who was currently sitting next to him in the bushes in front of the impressive manor near Oxford city.  It had taken him almost a year to find Moriarty’s hiding place and now that he had, Sherlock’s hands were trembling. That part of him that was commanded by his ego wanted to face this monster, to see the defeat in his eyes. But this time, emotions wouldn’t get the better of him.

His priority was to get Molly out of there.

Molly…

It was sickening how she was forced to sit on the couch with him, how he forced her to ‘cuddle’ with him by wrapping an arm around her and pulling her against his chest. She must be terrified.

But tonight, she would be free. He would bring her home tonight.

 

It took almost 30 more minutes before Molly finally stood up and walked over to the trolley at the other end of the spacious room. She had her back to Moriarty and the big windows.

It was time.

Sherlock nodded and both men rose out of their hiding place. They leveled their guns.

And shot.

Molly screamed.

While Sherlock and John were crossing the big garden to enter through the glass door, Molly ran over to Moriarty and bent over him.

It took weeks for Sherlock to remember how Moriarty rose his hand to cup her cheek before it fell limply to his side.

When Sherlock wrapped his arms around Molly, she was crying. He ignored her drumming fists as he pulled her into his arms, his own emotions overwhelming him.

She was safe. Thank God she was safe.

He wanted to bring her away from this prison, this golden cage Moriarty had put her in like some kind of trophy.

He was half way to the door when he realized Molly was fighting him.

When he looked down at her, a cold shudder ran down his skin.

Her eyes were full of hate.

She punched him then and the blow came so sudden and he was so shocked by it that he let her go.

Both of the men froze as she hurried back to Moriarty, fell on her knees and wrapped her arms around him.

“Jim! Jimmy! No! No! No!”

She cried and sobbed and cradled his face and kissed the lips of her captor.

John and Sherlock watched this scene in utter shock.

“Stockholm syndrom?” John muttered under his breath and looked up at Sherlock.

The consulting detective couldn’t respond as he watched Molly Hooper cry over James Moriarty.

He felt numb. He couldn’t think. He could just look at this woman.

The woman that once had been Molly Hooper.

 

**~oOo~**

 

Sherlock had his head buried in his hands. John sat next to him and slowly pulled the report Sherlock had just looked at over to him.

He gasped as he saw the long list of drugs the doctors had found in Molly’s hair sample.

“There was nothing in her blood”, John stated matter of factly to Mycroft, who was sitting opposite them. “He must have stopped drugging her weeks ago.”

Mycroft nodded. Then his eyes drifted back to his brother.

“We have to start therapy immediately, Sherlock. We’ve got no time to lose.”

“Can they reverse it?” John asked.

Sherlock still hid his face in his hands.

Mycroft remained silent. This made Sherlock look up. His eyes were red and glazed over.

“You  _will_  reverse it”, Sherlock stated cooly.

"Sherlock, I know you feel for her, but…”

Mycroft was silenced by Sherlock’s fist slamming on the table. The brother’s looked at each other for a long moment.

Desperation and fear in Sherlock’s eyes.

Worry and sympathy in Mycroft’s.

“You should bring her the cat”, Mycroft said as he rose from his chair.

“Anything that would waken some memories of her old life.”

Sherlock looked after his brother until the door fell close behind him.

“This is my fault, John”, he muttered and for once, he looked at his friend, totally at loss of what to do, guilt and shame making him unable to think clearly.

“Molly wouldn’t want you to think that and you know it”, John said and put a comforting hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “She would want you to bring her back as fast as possible.”

Sherlock nodded. New determination filled him.

John was right. Mycroft was right.

There was no time to lose.

 

**~oOo~**

 

Toby meowed in protest in his carrier as Sherlock set foot in Molly’s new flat. They had put her in the same building Mycroft where had his office. It was just easier this way…and safer.

He hadn’t taken five step when she entered the living room, a blue mug in her hand. She froze as she saw him and Sherlock clenched his jaw.

There still was that hate in her big brown eyes.

“You’re lucky that there are cameras”, she said spitefully and sat down on the lavender couch, ignoring him.

“I brought your cat”, Sherlock said and raised the carrier, which caused Toby to meow once again.

“I don’t have a cat”, she spat.

Even her voice sounded different, Sherlock thought bitterly.

“But Molly Hooper had.”

She looked at him then, the hate burning in her eyes.

“My name is Molly Moriarty”, she hissed, each syllable poisoned with loathing.

“I don’t care how many more hours I have to listen to people telling me that Jim was an evil mastermind! I don’t care how many more faked files and faked footage I have to watch that is intended to prove it! He was my husband! I knew Jim better than myself! Nothing you say will convince me that he was a criminal! NOTHING!”

She was shouting and tears were streaming down her flushed cheeks. In her anger, she reached for her mug and threw it. Sherlock dugged and the mug smashed into the wall.

His hands were shaking as he put down the carrier and opened the grate door. Toby was so scared from all the screaming and the loud noises that he decided he was safer inside the carrier.

Sherlock looked at Molly.

She had balled her hands into fists and crouching like a tigress as if she feared he was going to attack her.

“Don’t hurt the cat. His name is Toby. If you don’t want him, let one of the therapists know and they will take him back.”

“Go to hell”, she said calmly and meant every word.

The pang in his heart was painful, but he nodded, turned around and left the way he had come.

 

**~oOo~**

 

Even though it hurt every time, Sherlock visited her regularly. Most of the time he would just stand there while she sat on the couch, ignoring him completely and watching TV or cooking something in the kitchen. With a relief he had noticed that Toby was still there and that she petted him when she was on the sofa.

He visited her twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday. On the other days she had therapy and she couldn’t stand the sight of him after a session. She had yelled and thrown things at him when he had come after one of those sessions where they told her about Moriarty’s real identy and of hers.

Today, when Molly came in from the kitchen with a bowl of soup and her eyes fell on him, she just sighed and sat down on the couch.

“What do you bring me now?” she asked.

This is what he did. Every time he visited, he brought her stuff from her flat (which he had paid rent for when she had been held capitve), hoping that some of it would help her remember who she was. So far, nothing seemed to help. Not her favorite book, not her fluffy bunny slippers, not the lab coat nor her badge, not even a picture of her late father (even though Mycroft had told him that she had set up the framed picture on her night stand and had hung her lab coat in the closet).

“I’ve brought you a present” he announced and she snorted.

“Can I come over?” he asked. He never neared her without her permission.

She eyed him for a moment, her look drifting from his face over his scarf and the long black coat and as always he hoped, he hoped that she would recognize him.

But there was nothing. Just a nod that allowed him to come closer.

Fighting down his emotions, he crossed the distance between them. He stood in front of the coffee table as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a gift, neatly wrapped in red paper with a card on top of it.   
He placed it on the low table.

“It’s not Christmas. Or are you trying to convice me now that Christmas is in April?”

He just looked down at her. She frowned as she saw the forlorn expression on his face. He always looked at her like a lost puppy.

With a sigh she put down the bowl and grabbed the present. She wanted to tear open the wrapping when he interrupted her.

“Don’t you read the card?”

“Do I have to?”

“Please.”

She clenched her jaw, hate flaring in her eyes again. To her, Sherlock was just the man who had killed her husband.

But she obliged, flipping the card open.

Sherlock swallowed hard as he watched her read it.

 __  
  
Dearest Sherlock,

_Love,_

_Molly xxx_   
  
  


It was the present she had given him all those years ago.

He had never opened it.

His heart was drumming in his chest as he looked at her. She stared at the card for a long time, let her fingers brush over the blue ink.

Then she heard a little clank and looked to the side. There were two big silver earrings and a little hairclip with a Christmas bow lying on the coffee table.

Molly gasped as blurry memories floodded her mind.

She heard herself humming. Heard the rustling of wrapping paper. Felt it beneath her fingertips.

She heard the deep baritone voice of her husband’s murderer echo through her head.

_“…that suggests long-term hopes however forlorn…”_

Emotions rattled through her and all of a sudden she tore the wrapping paper off the wooden box. Tears filled her eyes as she recognized the delicate carvings of a bee-stock and little bees flying around it. She opened it, even though she knew that the box contained various samples of honey collected from all over the world.

With a gasp she threw the box onto the table and shot up from her seat, wrapping her arms around herself.

She couldn’t breathe. Tears streamed down her face as more memories flashed before her eyes, all of them blurry.

“Molly…” his voice was soft as velvet and right behind her.

When he placed a hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it off, whirled around and slapped him.

“Get out! Get out, get out!” she yelled and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door shut.

Toby hid under the couch.

Sherlock heard her sobbing through the door and he closed his eyes, pain shooting through his heart.

He looked down at the wooden box. His bottom lip quivered as he bent down and picked it up.

A wonderful gift.

She had known him so well.

His Molly had known him better than anyone else.

Like so many times before, Sherlock cursed himself for all the years he had waisted not being with her.

And now it might be too late.

Maybe she was truly lost forever.

Maybe Moriarty had won, after all…

 

**~oOo~**

 

Sherlock was woken by his mobile that night.

“She wants to see you”, his brother’s voice informed him as he answered it.

Sherlock shot up.

“I’m coming.”

-

The fireplace was the only source of light when he stepped out of the elevator and into her living room. She was standing next to it, her arms wrapped around herself.

Her eyes were big and red from crying.

He stood there, waiting for her permission, as always.

She nodded.

“Your name is Molly Hooper”, he started softly as he slowly approached her.

“You’re a specialist at St. Bartholomew’s hospital. This is where we met six years ago. Greg Lestrade, a Detective Inspector of Scotland Yard, brought me along to look at a corpse. I was rude to you, you threw me out. But you allowed me to come back. You always forgave my misbehaviour.”

Her eyes met his for only a second.

“We got used to each other and, over time, became friends.”

She frowned.

“Even though you might have felt more for me. I don’t know when that happened, really. But it did. You had a blog, the one that they showed you. This is how Moriarty found you.”

She took a step back. He halted.

“He got himself a job at Bart’s and worked at IT. He used you to get to meet me, you having told him that I constantly come in for cases or experiments. He made me believe he was gay, so I told you. You were angry with me, but broke up with him in the end. Moriarty revealed himself to me by taking John hostage and strapping a bomb to him. We started playing a game which ended at the roof on St. Bart’s, with him pretending to shoot himself and me pretending to jump off said roof to my own death, in order to protect my friends. You helped me make it possible. You found a body which looked like me and faked the papers. I brought down Moriarty’s network within two years. We haven’t seen each other in that time. You met Tom Abbott,” her eyes flickered up to him at this, “and got engaged to him. I came back three months after your engagement. You broke up with him four months after I’ve come back. We never spoke about it, but…I assume the reasons for your breakup involved me.”

They looked at each other. Sherlock started moving towards her again.

“There was a man named Charles Magnussen, a blackmailer who tried to get to Mycroft by threatening Mary, John’s wife. I tried to get his attention by pretending I was back on drugs…”

Molly frowned at that, her eyes drifting from one side to the other. There was a slapping sound echoing through her mind. Over and over again.

Sherlock moved on.

“You were very angry with me. I apologized several times.”

“Why?”

Her voice was merely a whisper.

Sherlock swallowed hard. He was standing right in front of her now.

“Because I hurt you. And I didn’t want you to be mad at me. I…I need you.”

“What do you need…” she whispered and her eyes looked past him as another memory flashed in front of her eyes.

“You”, he answered in the same tone he had used back then.

“The answer is always you, Molly….”

She looked up at him.

And Sherlock started hoping again.

Hoping that she had found her way home.

  
Home to him.

  
But then her eyes turned cold and with a scream she rushed forward.

There was a horrible pain shooting through his chest.

Molly stumbled backwards against the wall, crying and sobbing.

Then Sherlock looked down.

  
There was the handle of a kitchen knife sticking out of his chest.

  
“Molly…” he whispered, strength leaving him quickly.

His vision blurred as tears started to fall and he fell down on his knees.

Molly sobbed, her eyes fixed on him as she slid along the wall until she reached the corner and sank down, her legs giving in.

“Molly…” she heard him call her again and pressed her hands over her ears.

Their eyes were locked until he fell back onto the carpet.

Molly screamed again.

The elevator doors opened and a medical team burst into the room. They hoisted him up on a stretcher as fast as they could. Molly watched how his pale blue shirt was ripped open by a medic as the doors slid close again.

Molly buried her head in her hands and cried, trying to fight down the memories of a life that felt so unfamiliar to her and cling to the life she had been made to believe was true.

 

She was Molly Moriarty.

 

_Molly Moriarty!_

 

_Molly Moriarty…_


End file.
